Spring Caprice

clouds in mccall

the air holds its breath,

expectant, clouds press earthward,

birthing waggish wind

Ecstasy

 

dog in truck

If I were a dog

I’d long for a warm spring day in Idaho

 

 

I’d hang my head out the pickup window

and bark at the driver to go faster

 

 

we’d rush down Hankins Road

my long blond ears flapping in the wind

 

 

drinking in the freshness of newly plowed earth

and the tantalizing odor of last night’s skunk

 

 

panting joyously I’d leap from the truck

and chase the perfume of rock chucks

 

 

roll exuberantly

in the lush spring grass and slurp from the ditch

 

 

if I were a dog

 

Vision of Spring

 

Castle rocks creek with sun

On the first day of April,

Ariel sat by a stream,

her honey-colored

hair spilling onto

the blue ocean of her shirt.

 

Her head tilted sweetly

as she read The Last Song

by Nicholas Sparks–

her fuchsia Mongoose bike

abandoned on the path.

 

She might have been an ordinary girl.

 

Dance of the Deciduous

dancing trees

Will you dance? says she, her arms upraised in pleasing grace.

A waltz? says he, as he bows his head a trace.

And so they do the pas de deux through March and April too.

 

Drunk on Spring Air

Cauldron LinnI take an intoxicating gulp

of air as I step out the door.

Delirious with joy,

I sense a slight hint of warmth,

the barest scent of growing things.

 I breathe in

and in

and in . . .

like someone who has been

suffocating,

I just can’t get enough

of the balmy feel

in my lungs

and the heady whiff

of summer coming on.

The Wicked Witch’s Demise

Phantom falls baseDappled, dimpled snow mounds

linger, leftover—soiled and tatty,

the petticoats of a too-old chorus girl–

blemished with pockmarks,

tire tracks, and squirrel trails,

shrieking and howling

at Spring’s approach,

she shrinks and melts.

Spring Awakening

bear-in-forestAfter two days of fasting

and a brutal colon cleanse,

I stagger from my lair,

haggard, washed-out,

depleted, drained,

sure that I am hungry

but not quite ready to forage.

After a brief sashay

out of hibernation

and a cup of yogurt,

I resume sleeping.

The next day my hunger

awakens with me.

I’m sorry for the she-bear

who must search for

grass and berries.

I greedily devour

a piece of homemade bread

slathered with butter

followed by a large

glass of milk,

each mouthful a prayer

of thanksgiving,

the milk precious nectar.

 

Fulcrum: Idaho Spring

Yesterday,
tulips flailed
in the brisk, biting wind.


Children
hunched into their sweatshirts
at the bus stop,
pulling the sleeves over their hands. 


******

 

Today,
nearly spent,
the tulips’ washed-out colors
undulate in the gentle breeze.


Children rush from confinement
to race up the slide bed.


The elderly
venture out of hibernation,
the hope of one more summer
stirring within.


******

 

Tomorrow,
the scorching sun
will send all but the children
into air-conditioned cocoons. 


******

Today,
though the air is pregnant
with impending heat,
we pretend
it will be like this
forever
as we celebrate
the one perfect day of spring.

 

On the Last Day of March

On the last day of March,

I venture out of my

climate-controlled cocoon

to find a sluggish lizard

gazing groggily at

a not-yet-in-bloom world.

A furiously scurrying caterpillar

pumps his 16 legs

on this virgin voyage,

while three angry geese

battle for airspace,

slashing the silent expanse.

And a northern flicker calls

chee-chee-chee-ch-CHEE-chee.

Nascent Spring

The hills still wear their faded Army drabs.
Used motor oil oozes where the Snake River should be.
Naked trees stand exposed beneath a blue-less sky.
Dusty, dirty leaves lie crumpled,
cluttering the banks of a small stream,
and someone certainly must have sprayed
the shrinking snowbanks with leftover watercolor water.

But like a fetus gestating in its mother’s womb
tiny water cress plants grow in a trickle of runoff
and baby ferns peek from beneath
the brittle brownness of last year’s reeds,
heralding the imminent greenness that
will sprout from every tree and spring
from every hill until the whole world
is swollen with summer.